


Americana

by pmonkey816



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gender Play, I swear nothing heterosexual is happening here, Mild Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmonkey816/pseuds/pmonkey816
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delphine gets dragged to a dive bar by her friends, and meets a man she feels an instant connection with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It'll be fun._ Her friends had said that day at work as they all shed their lab coats and traded them for the heavier coats they'd brought to fend off the frigid fall air. They were all so different, some with denim or leather, and others wool pea coats, but they all agreed: tonight they were going to blow off some steam from a particularly frustrating day at the lab with drinks in yet another bar. _C'mon, it's about time you got some good old Americana, Delphine._

 

She'd agreed, with a slight hesitation. “Americana” was a vague concept for her, blurred with the stereotypes she'd learned of what people were like in the United States. She'd expected more of it when she moved here, especially when she learned her destination was smack in the middle of the country. Minnesota. Looking on the map, it practically seemed a part of Canada. Still, she was never one to turn down a learning experience and she could certainly use a drink and a little company.

 

This was not exactly what she'd been expecting.

 

The bar was made of different shades of time-worn wood, something like a cabin in its décor. A deer head with a black and white trucker hat hung on the wall just above where the top shelf bottles proudly asserted their brands to the world, but aside from that and the occasional beer sign, the walls were surprisingly bare. A smattering of mostly empty tables were in the middle, except for an area that was designated for pool that had attracted a crowd of bearded men and one exceptionally tall, striking woman. Some of that group had also huddled into a nearby booth nestled in the corner. The only light came from one overhead light and the lamps that hung too low over the billiards table.

 

“See anyone you like, D?” Peter, a lab tech with large, plastic-frame glasses and side-swept brown hair, asked.

 

She did her best to muster a smile to appease him and the group of people now staring at her. “Non, I'm here to have fun with all of you, not to date.”

 

“Oh c'mon.” Jamie, a fellow immunologist with a weightlifting obsession and a ponytail pulled perpetually so tight Delphine thought it must be horribly uncomfortable, nudged her with an elbow and raised her eyebrows. “It's been a while, right? Get right back up on that horse, cowgirl!” She all but shouted the words, and everyone at the table raised their glasses, clinking them together in agreement.

 

“It's like Johnny Cash once said,” Peter began, already beginning to slur his words, “'save a horse, ride a cowboy!'”

 

Lauren rolled her eyes and let out a little huff. “Please tell me you're joking, Pete.”

 

“About what?”

 

“That wasn't Johnny Cash, doofus.” She smacked the back of his head and he grabbed at it, feigning injury.

  
“Then who was it?”

  
Delphine didn't hear much more after that, the sounds of the argument (which soon everyone was involved in) fading out into the din of the bar.

 

“This isn't exactly how I'd planned on spending my Friday night, either.” Cal, her favorite from this group of friends, said. He was smiling—he was _always_ smiling. Somehow, the man was undyingly positive and it suited him well. “But it 's interesting, isn't it?”

 

She nodded slowly, laughing lightly to herself. “Yes, interesting is a good word for it.”

 

He nudged her with his shoulder and motioned to her now empty glass with his chin. “How about I get us another round?”

 

“That would be nice, thank you.”

 

He stood and walked over to the bar where the bartender was pouring a drink for one of the pool players, one eye still on the football game on the screen above him. Delphine looked down at her empty glass and frowned. She wished she could have a glass of wine, but according to her friends that was “contrary to the experience.” She'd been talked into a whiskey sour instead and, while it wasn't a bad drink, she found every sip slightly disappointing.

 

A chord broke out through the strains of a country song playing  softly through the speakers. For atmosphere, she supposed, though it seemed absurd to her that one would want to promote such a morose feeling in a bar. She looked up to the makeshift stage in the corner, and saw a man  holding a  guitar.  He frowned at it, flicked his long hair over his shoulder, and began fiddling with the knobs on the end. He struck another chord, and smirked. Apparently, that was the sound he'd wanted. A tall, dark-skinned woman stood next to him, face slackened into something resembling disinterest as she glanced around the bar.

  
Cal surprised her again by sliding a glass down in front of her and settling. “Hey.”

 

“Oh. Hi, you startled me.” She said, laughing slightly as she placed her hand to her chest to be sure her heartbeat was returning to its usual pace.

  
“Sorry about that.” He was sitting perpendicular to the table, she realized suddenly, so that he was facing her directly. That was when she noticed the shape looming above her and she looked up at it, recognizing a man who had been standing at the bar earlier. “I brought a friend, too.” He chuckled.

 

“Sid.” The man held his hand out. He was short and thin, generally small-framed, with jeans, a t-shirt and an old baseball cap on his head. But his stature didn't seem to contain him at all. He sprawled, even just standing there. His legs were placed shoulder-width apart, one hand tucked casually in his hip pocket. He struck an imposing, aggressive figure somehow.

 

She took it, responding with her own name, and he nodded curtly at her.

 

“Sid just asked if I wanted to join him and his friends and I said I wanted to ask you first.”

 

Delphine frowned. “You don't have to ask my permission.”

 

“No, no. Of course not.” He jumped, waving his hands. “No, I meant I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with.”

 

Delphine looked from where the group gathered around the pool table was laughing and jostling one another back to her group of friends. Since she'd stopped paying attention, the discussion had moved on to a book she hadn't read, nor did she particularly care to. Lauren shook her head vehemently and seamlessly pushed her oversized glasses back up her nose as she formed her rebuttal. Peter just leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, smirking at her. Back at the pool table, one of the men was waving his hands around, apparently making a very emphatic point. The tall woman was laughing, and a second, shorter woman in a pink and white checkered dress whom she hadn't noticed before was frowning disapprovingly at the both of them.

 

The people at the pool table didn't seem all that different, really, but she wasn't sure if she could stand to sit at this table if Cal weren't there. So she nodded slightly and said, “yes. That would be nice, I think.”

 

“Great.” Sid said, and there was a twang there—but not an American one, she noted. It was more familiar than any American accent had seemed to her. They all stood, and Sid strolled casually in between the argument going on at the pool table, slinging his arm around the tall woman's shoulders and making himself look lopsided from the height difference. “Hey everyone, these are my new friends Cal and, uh... Cal's friend.”

 

The twinge of accent was gone now, Delphine noted. Perhaps she'd imagined it.

 

The tall woman grinned, flashing perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “Well, well, well. Who's Mr. Tall, dark and handsome?” She leaned forward with a sway, clearly already a little inebriated. And she  _definitely_ had an accent.

 

“Uh, Cal.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“Fifi.” The woman responded, nudging into Sid and whispering something in his ear that made him chuckle.

 

“You're British.” Delphine said suddenly, and the woman looked at her.

 

“Yeah, and you are?”

 

“Delphine.” She smiled shyly, realizing the way everyone was watching her curiously. “I'm sorry, it's just I don't often meet other Europeans, especially not in places like this.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don't often come to places like this myself. Just showing some support for brothersestra over there.” She motioned to where the two people on stage had been joined by a third, a man in tight black jeans with a black cowboy shirt tucked in. His hair was coiffed back into a flawless pompadour.

  
“Brothersestra?”

 

“Long story.” The man leaning against the pool table stuck his hand out to shake hers; he was wearing a pearl-snapped cowboy shirt tucked into his tight blue jeans which was all topped with a battered cowboy hat. Delphine took his hand in her own. “I'm Charlie.”

 

His hand was soft, with tan lines on his fingers from where rings must have been over the long summer months. He was the same size as Sid, even similar in his facial structure, though there was something far less intimidating about him. Whereas Sid had stubble all across his cheeks in the messy beginnings of a beard, Charlie had a shortly trimmed goatee on his chin and above his lips that accented how soft and red they were. She looked up from his hand to his eyes and saw novas and galaxies nestled in warm brown. Her heartbeat quickened in her chest. It had been a long time since she'd felt this way upon meeting a stranger and she distantly registered a determination—no, a compulsion—to be near him.

 

“I'm Alison.” The woman in the checkered dress introduced herself. In lieu of a smile, she'd simply raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, as though it were all she could muster at the moment.

 

“Enchantee.” Delphine was already growing bored of the lengthy introductions, and now, with a pair of piercing eyes watching her from a few feet to her right, she had lost all patience entirely.

 

“So, who won?” Sid asked suddenly, grabbing a pool stick off the rack on the wall.

 

“Me.” Fifi cut in, grinning over at Charlie triumphantly. “Of course. Geek monkey here needs to brush up on her geometry.”

 

Delphine's brow furrowed, and she cast her gaze back over to Charlie, who just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. But she had called him 'she.' The word had caught her attention instantly. It didn't seem to faze anyone else, so she decided to let it pass. Some sort of jibe at his masculinity, perhaps? In losing to a girl?

 

“Maybe I let you win so I could watch Sid shitkick that beautiful little ass of yours.” Charlie grinned broadly, sharp canines glistening in the light above the pool table, shaded by green-tinted glass.

 

“I'm sure.” Fifi rolled her eyes, and turned to where Sid had already racked up the balls and set the cue ball across the table. She nodded at him with her chin. “Your break.”

 

“Or maybe,” Charlie was right next to her now, and she felt the warmth of his closeness shudder through her body, “I let her win cause I saw you coming over.”

 

Delphine looked down into his sparkling eyes and caught sharp teeth on her bottom lip. “Is that so?” Was all she could say because her brain had begun to start to short circuit, and nothing more clever popped into her mind.

 

“Mmm-hmm.” He hummed, wrapping around her body without touching her to lean back against the side of the pool table. “I saw you sitting over there. You looked bored out of your mind.”

 

“Oh.” Delphine could feel the blush start to singe her cheeks, and she looked to the floor. “Yes. I'm just tired. I enjoy my friends.”

 

He held his hands up. “Not saying you don't. Although, I'm sensing a 'but' in there somewhere.”

 

Delphine crossed her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly very exposed to a man she'd never met before. He was different, this person who couldn't be older than twenty based on the youthful softness to his face. She'd never known a man to be so intuitive, so flirty and sensuous without being forward. She could feel his interest, but not in an overtly sexual sort of way. He looked deep into her eyes when he spoke to her; she wondered if he also saw the universe in hers.

 

“They can be a bit...” She sighed, then laughed at her own hesitance. “Pretentious, I suppose. And pushy.”

 

“Mmm.” He hummed his response, then nodded. “Friends are complicated like that sometimes, aren't they?”

 

“Yes, well. Moving across the ocean to a new job meant I had to make do with what I had.” She realized the way it sounded, then shook her head vigorously. “Not that I don't enjoy their company—I do—it's just not the same as being grounded somewhere.” She felt a blush begin to singe at her cheeks and she looked down to the ground to avoid the sparkling mirth in his eyes.

 

“I get it.” He laughed. “Honestly, I do.”

 

“I believe you.” Desperate to change the subject and free herself from the intensity of his gaze, she nodded toward where Fifi—who had apparently been ousted from the game so that Sid could play with Cal—and Alison were downing tequila shots. “Fifi called you a geek.” She said, realizing only after it left her mouth that it was a terribly awkward thing to say to someone she barely knew. But the drinks she'd ingested and the dazzle of Charlie's gaze had left her feeling shy, and giddy. She was desperate to say anything to get him to talk more.

 

“Mmm. Yeah. The geek monkey.” He replied, a raspiness to his voice that hadn't been there before. “I'm a scientist.”

 

Delphine's eyebrows shot up, and her mouth dropped open. “I'm a scientist, as well.” She finally managed to stammer out. “Immunology, generally. Host-parasite relationships, specifically.”

 

“Oh. Fascinating field.” Charlie nodded solemnly. “And I guess I'm being a little disingenuous when I say I'm a scientist. I'm still a student, getting my Phd. In, uh, evo-devo.” After a second, he added “Evolutionary Development.”

 

“Ah. Yes.” A student. She quickly did the math in her head. Undergrad until—what?--twenty-one? And then four to six in graduate school would mean he was in his mid-to-late twenties, much older than she'd expected. Good. “Also a fascinating field.”

 

“I'd say so, but I'm dedicating my life to studying it, so maybe don't take my word for it.” It was perhaps the softness of him that drew her in, the firm slackness around the mouth and eyes, or perhaps it was his self-effacing nature, the way he teased gently at himself and took his friends' ribbing so calmly.

 

“Non, I think you are right.” She was doing it again, she noted faintly, she was biting her bottom lip, but it was stalling her desire to do anything less appropriate with them. This rarely happened to her, this instantaneous desire. “You're very sweet, you know that?”

 

He smiled and glanced down at the space between their bodies, at the shuffling of their feet. “Thanks.”

 

“I mean it. You are not like your friends at all.” She prodded, ducking her head to try to catch his eye.

 

She saw a gentle flush rise to his cheeks. “Nah, they're big softies deep down. They just come across a little harsh.”

 

Sid came around the table and nudged Charlie forcefully. “Oi. Ass off the table, meathead.” There it was again, the twinge. Was Sid British, too? Maybe he'd immigrated young, and had lost most of his accent, or was the child of English parents? She was broken from her thoughts again when Charlie stumbled a couple steps forward into her space, now just a foot in front of her.

 

“Well, since we're in the way here, wanna dance?” He held out his hand and raised his eyebrows, high wattage grin back in place on his face.

 

She just nodded, downed the rest of her drink, and took his hand. She hadn't even noticed the band had started playing, despite how much louder it was than the quiet dulcet tones of the music over the loudspeakers. The song was fast, and Delphine could tell it wasn't exactly Charlie's style of dancing. He stumbled over his own feet a few times, laughing at himself every time. She couldn't help but join, the sound landed electric in her body, sending jolts of glee through her. He pushed her back, and pulled away at the same time, but kept their hands joined. Then, he pulled her back to him and swung her under his arm, releasing her just long enough to untwist their hands. They bopped back and forth a little more, and then he let go of one hand and sent her flying out, making her laugh like a child, before pulling her back toward him once more, twirling, wrapping her up in his arms back-to-front and holding her close as the song segued into something slower and more somber.

 

The woman's vocals were soft, and slow. Nothing like what they'd been just seconds before. They swayed like that for a couple seconds, Delphine's back pressed tight against Charlie's front. It was nice, comfortable, safe, even though he was smaller than her. He let her go to turn her back around, and she put her hands on his shoulders—his went up to her hips, holding them with a light pressure. Heavy enough for her to feel the weight of them against her hips, to remind her they were holding her, but light enough to be comfortable and not at all possessive.

 

“Tell me about yourself.” The drink she'd chugged and the delirium of her own laughter as they'd danced had left her a little too happy, a little too careless when usually she would be hesitant and cautious with a stranger. She wanted to know everything about him, to unravel the mystery of this Charlie.

 

“Honestly, I don't know what to say. Ask me a question.” The slow, easy grin returned to his face and he added, “none of that softball stuff, though. Ask the hard questions.”

 

“Hmm.” She hummed, glancing up at the ceiling as she tried to think of a “hard” question. “Do you believe in God?” It hadn't seemed a particularly upfront or difficult one, if she were being truthful with herself. It was generally a given with most scientists she'd met that they were atheist or agnostic, compulsory religious at best.

 

He tipped his head off to the side, then nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

 

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?” He hadn't yet failed to surprise her.

 

“Yeah. I mean, not in the 'bearded man in the sky' sort of way.” He said, raising a hand to roll it around on his wrist as he spoke. “But in a, like, force of the universe we can't fully understand kind of way—why not?”

 

“I find that surprising.” She admitted. “In a scientist.”

 

“There was this article I was reading a while back where the author said something along the lines of,” he held the hand that had been gesturing before up cautiously, “and I'm paraphrasing here—but she said something like 'mythology is often thought of as the opposite of science when, in fact, it's central to it. Myths are simply the symbolism through which we interpret the world and, therefore, the significance of science in it.”

 

“So are we now talking about religion?” Delphine asked.

 

“No, not necessarily. Just belief structures in general.” He shrugged a shoulder, and smiled again, and looked back up into her eyes.

 

She felt her breath vanish from her chest when he did, when his gaze melted heat into her and seemed to tug her toward him. The moment stretched, beating restlessly in time with the soft boom of the bass drum and the crooning of the singer. Her stomach tightened and flipped and knotted impossibly taut. This was it. The perfect moment. She tipped his hat back and leaned her head down, lips hovering close to his, knuckles rising to graze along his cheek. He inhaled sharply and took a step back, repositioning the hat on his head. He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at the vacated pool table. “I think we're due for a game of pool, don't you? The table's empty.” He turned and walked away without saying anything else, so she followed in silent resignation.

 

Her heart had settled at the bottom of her stomach, shipwrecked and aching. Was he not interested in her? Honestly, the way he'd been acting, the thought had never even crossed her mind. _Oh, God._ She thought, swallowing a thick knot at the back of her throat, _Maybe he's gay._ Maybe that's why Fifi had called him 'she,' why he'd looked at her as though he was seeing her, and not just her body. She felt nauseated, flooded with a sudden vertigo of insecurity.

 

“Hey.” Cal's voice broke her from her thoughts, and she smiled wanly. “You two looked pretty cozy out there.” He cocked a playful eyebrow in her direction, though the force of his teasing was mitigated by the gentle warmth of his eyes.

 

The smile faded from her face, and she refocused her attention to the grimy boards of the wooden floor. “I thought so, too.”

 

“Meaning?” He prodded. She felt his arm stretch across her back, his hand finding her shoulder and stroking gently at it.

 

She leaned into his embrace and shrugged. “I tried to kiss him.” She watched Charlie as he fished the balls from the pockets and settled them in the triangle at the far end of the table. She sighed, wondering how doing something so mundane could still seem endearing. “And he walked away.”

 

Cal was silent for a second, then said “maybe he's just a gentleman, you know? Doesn't want to move too fast. Sid made a joke about you being exactly his type.”

 

“Maybe.” She pulled away from him so she could look at him. “So you and Sid are getting along well? He seemed very fond of you already.”

 

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I think he likes me a lot, actually.”

 

“You think he's gay?” This surprised her, for some reason, and the thought that Charlie may also be gay resonated in her mind. Maybe Sid had been making a joke, then, about her being his type?

 

“I think he's certainly interested in me. He had his hand on my thigh the entire time we were sitting in the booth together.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared down at the ground.

 

“And you... like him in that way, as well?”

 

He shrugged. “I don't know, why not?”

 

Just then, Charlie walked over with a big grin on his face. “Oh. Hey, Cal. How's it going?” He handed her a pool cue, and she took it with as much of a smile as she could muster. Her mind was reeling with this new information about Cal.

 

“Good.” Cal responded with a shy smile. “Great.” Delphine tilted her head off to the side and felt her affection for him grow. He was blushing, she could just tell from over the top of his beard. “Anyway, I'll let you two get back to your game.” He said, waving a hand as he turned to walk back over to the booth.

 

When she looked back to Charlie, he was watching her. “You break.”

 

She shook her head, feeling too unstable for this right now. But she couldn't exactly explain that she'd never been so confused in all her life to him, because a large part of it was the question of his own sexuality, his own interest. “No, I'm not very good. You do it.”

 

“Oh, come on.” He said with a chuckle, clearly noticing her mood, clearly trying to lift her out of it. “Ladies first, it's the way of my people.”

 

Delphine spun the stick in her hands, the laminated feel of it slick on the skin of her palms. “And what people is that?”

 

“Good old-fashioned American gentlemen.” He said with a soft smile, then stepped to the side and swept his arm toward the table in an exaggerated bow.

 

She nodded, and walked over to where the cue ball was sitting at the end of the table. _Gentlemen._ Maybe he had simply been attempting to woo her, to move slowly for her. She positioned the white ball, then leaned over to line up the shot. Suddenly, his heat was behind her, and she had to meter her outbreath so it didn't rush from her all at once.

 

“Word of advice?” He asked, running his hands along her arms to reach for the cue ball.

 

She glanced over her shoulder to look at him, positioned by her shoulder with their height difference. “Don't let the opposition distract you?”

 

He laughed, taking a step back and raising his hands again. “All right, all right. Never mind.”

 

Was he teasing her intentionally? What was his motivation? She pulled in a deep breath as she lined up the shot, then exhaled slowly as she sent the cuestick sliding through her index and middle fingers. The cueball broke the pyramid of solids and stripes, sending them skittering in every possible direction, two solid-colored balls rolling into separate pockets.

 

“Looks like you're solids.” He said with a devilish smile.

 

“It appears that way, yes.”

 

“I was thinking,” he started to say, leaning his weight against the table, hands shoved into his pockets. “Maybe we should make this game a little more interesting?”

 

She cocked her head to the side, small smile sprouting as she saw his nervous shuffle, though he attempted to play it cool. “How so?”

 

“Loser buys the next round?” Charlie suggested with a casual shrug, then looked up at her from where his head was ducked toward his chest.

 

“Okay.” The smile on her face was blooming now, as she realized she had the perfect chance to figure out once and for all where he stood. “If you win, I buy you a drink.” She walked around to where he was standing and leaned against the table right next to him, so her hip brushed up against his crotch. “But what if I want something else for my victory?”

 

He swallowed hard, though his eyes never left hers. “All right. I win, you buy me a drink. But if you win, you get...” He trailed off, a question mark hanging at the end of his words.

 

“A kiss.”

 

His eyes widened slightly and he glanced down to where his fingers began picking at the felt beneath them. “Okay. Sure.” He looked back up at her, confidence back at least for the moment, a now-familiar grin spreading across lips Delphine longed to taste. “You win, you get a kiss.”

 

They watched each other for another moment, before Delphine pushed off the table and took a few steps back to survey her options. She could knock the orange five ball into the corner pocket, though the angle was a little tricky. She'd have to hit it on the side without knocking one of Charlie's stripes closer to the goal. Alternatively, she could bounce the cue ball off the edge of the table to tap the yellow one ball into the side pocket. She ran her hand through her hair, eyes flickering from one scenario to the other.

 

“Hey. Blondie.” Charlie called from across the table where he was leaning an elbow on it. “Take a shot today, will ya?”

 

Delphine lowered the stick to point it at him and raised a defiant eyebrow. “You will wait as long as it takes me to make a decision.”  
  


“Ooh.” He straightened his arm but still leaned against the side of the table. His eyebrow twitched up then back down in challenge. “You've got a bossy side, don't you? I like it.”

 

She rolled her eyes then returned her attention to the layout of the balls, though she kept seeing him out of the corner of her vision, his words echoing in her mind. _I like it._ She suppressed a shiver at the ache the echo caused. She leaned over, deciding the five ball was the best bet, and found his crotch right in her view, his cue stick pressed between his jeans and the edge. She arched an eyebrow at him, a low chuckle resonating in her chest.

 

“Really? You're trying to distract me?” She asked, but didn't wait for an answer because the next second the ball was sinking into the corner pocket. She wandered around the other side, lining up the obvious shot (seven in the side pocket).

 

“Not a size queen, huh?” He asked, moving into her line of vision again.

 

She just rolled her eyes, ignoring him as best she could as she lowered herself and positioned the stick between her fingers. She saw movement above the ball and glanced up quickly, seeing him standing there, though this time he wasn't facing her. She looked back down to the ball, pulled the cue stick back, and...

 

He bent down, showing off a firm but round butt in his too-tight jeans. The cue stick glanced off the cue ball at just the wrong angle, and the seven ball bounced benignly off the wall of the table.

 

“Merde.”

 

He was behind her again now, but this time his hands grasped at her hips, his own pressing into her. “You're more of an ass man.” He said with a chuckle. “I'll keep it in mind for the future.”

 

She knew very little about this man: he was a scientist, apparently a theist of some sort, a bit shy, with a thoughtful mind, a beautiful pair of eyes, and a perfect butt. Now she could add “not intending to play fair” to the list. But two could play at that game. As he circled the table to figure out his next move, she unfastened the top three buttons on her shirt and, when he leaned down to set up the shot, she leaned over and set her chest atop her folded arms. She wasn't busty, exactly, she knew that. But her skin was flawless and ivory; her breasts shapely and sized well for his small hands. He didn't look up, barely acknowledged she was right in his field of vision at all, except for the slight tremble of his hands and the deep swallow and exhale just before he took the shot. It sank and he chuckled breathlessly, his eyes fluttering shut in his—happiness? Relief? He lined up another shot, and made that one, too, in the time it took her to consider her next moves. He was catching up with her, she needed to up the ante.

 

She was in his field of vision again as he lined up the shot. She waved at her face with her hand. “It is warm in here, non?” She asked, reaching down to tug at the sides of her shirt. She saw his eyes flicker up at her, then back down to the balls in front of him. The shirt pulled up and out of the waist of her black skinny jeans, which gave him just a small glimpse of skin, then fell back over her hips. He sank that shot, too. She ground her teeth together, her frustration at being unable to rile him when he had so easily irked her shot growing. And, along with it, the fear that he may actually win, that he may actually _want_ to win specifically so he would not have to kiss her. When he pulled his arm back to take the shot, she stretched her arms up above her head in an exaggerated yawn, the fabric pulling up to expose the skin of her hips and stomach, the dimple of her belly button.

 

The cue ball glanced off the ball he'd aimed for awkwardly and it bounced against the wall. But that one knocked the purple seven ball into the corner pocket. The _solid_ purple seven ball. She smirked. So, he wasn't as cool as he was playing.

 

“Fuck.” He muttered, wiping a sleeve along his forehead.

 

She walked around to stand next to him and leaned in close to his ear, their shoulders bumped and slid against one another. “So, you're feeling a bit warm, as well?”

 

He glanced up at her, eyes shining bright even in the dim light of the bar, even though there were no stars in them now, only the darkness of a meaningful nothingness. “Burning up.” His voice was soft but hoarse and gravelly. He brought his hand up to the back of her head and swayed in closer to her, lips hanging precariously near, before he seemed to catch himself and pulled away with a shake of his head.

 

“Holy shit.” He said, more to himself than anything, as he placed some distance between them. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she found herself unable to look at anything else. Distantly, she registered that it was her turn and tore her eyes away from him back to the table to be able to see what her next move should be. But she couldn't focus and the next ball hit the corner of the pocket awkwardly and shot right back out.

 

He was watching her, quiet but intense. He hadn't tried to stop her that time, hadn't tried to distract her. She wondered what it meant, this enigma of a man. Nothing about his actions made sense. He was interested, that she knew for sure after he almost kissed her. On top of that, he could have her—now, if he wanted, but he held back. Why? Did he have a girlfriend?

 

He sank another shot as she considered the question, which snapped her back to attention. As much as she wanted to ponder him, to try to untie his knots, she wanted more to win. If she got nothing else out of her shameless flirting tonight, she could go home knowing she had trounced him, despite the attraction that gnawed at her, flooding her with pleasurable aches and jolts. She could go home winner of something, whether she was alone or not.

 

He was learning. She could tell because he was lining up his shots quickly enough that she could not keep up with him. He would stand back and appraise, taking his time in that step. Then, he would line the shot up and sink it in a matter of ten seconds. He was at six to her four. He only had one more to go before the mad dash for the final ball. Luckily, the eight ball was in the way.

 

She quickly caught up to him, then flubbed when it came to the killing blow. She blew a frustrated breath out through her lips. They'd given up the flirting ruse, the both of them wanting desperately to end the game playing and find out what happened in the end. Charlie sank his final ball. Right as he was about to line up the shot to land the eight ball, she attempted one final coup.

 

Walking up to him and grabbing the arm that was positioning the cue stick, she leaned over and said “a word of advice?”

 

He smirked up at her, eyebrows pulling up in a silent chuckle. “Trying to use my own tricks against me?”

 

“Non.” She said, while opening her eyes as wide as possible and shrugging her shoulders. She was feigning innocence and knew she wasn't convincing in the least. “Simply offering a suggestion, mon cheri.”

 

He eased back to standing upright and planted the butt of the cue stick firmly into the ground. “All right, what's your expert suggestion?”

 

“When taking such a difficult shot,” she began, reaching for the stick and pulling it out of his hands—being sure her fingers brushed slow and languid over his—then grabbing the chalk off the table. “One must be sure their stick is adequately chalked.” She slowly ground the small cube of blue chalk over the tip of the cue stick, then put it back where she'd found it. She brought the tip of the stick closer to her lips, forming a perfect “O” with them, and blew gently. The chalk dust flew up into Charlie's face. He blinked a couple times, then chuckled and ducked his head down.

 

“Well, thanks darling.” He said, sounding almost like John Wayne in his affected drawl. “I'll keep that in mind.”

 

He leaned over and lined up the shot, then looked up at her, a small smirk teasing at the corner of his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he shifted to the right and sent the cueball flying in the opposite direction of its supposed target. “Oops.” He had let the smirk take over his face now, as he straightened and leaned his weight on the cuestick. “Looks like you're gonna win, after all.” He nodded his chin toward where the blank white ball sat, the eight ball positioned directly between it and the sidepocket. There was no way anyone could miss that shot.

 

She furrowed her brow, looking from the table to Charlie's face. “You intentionally lost?” She sputtered. “Why?”

 

“Well,” he said as he reached a hand out to touch her bicep gently, fingertips like a whisper on her skin, “I changed my mind. I think I want a kiss more than a drink after all.”

 

His words pulsed heat through her body. She registered vaguely that she was biting her lip again, but it didn't bother her because it had drawn his attention to them and that was all she really wanted anyway. “Oh?” She walked toward him, backing him up into the edge of the table, their hips pressing together hard.

 

“Yeah. It's just, there's something I need to tell you first.” He swallowed, then chuckled. “It's a funny story, really.”

 

She furrowed her brow. “What—?” But she didn't get to finish her thought because Jamie was calling out to her from ten feet away or so.

 

“DC!” She shouted, stumbling forward drunkenly and catching herself on Delphine's shoulder. She and Charlie broke apart, both awkwardly looking at anything but each other. “Oh, my God. Look at you! I had no idea!”

 

“What?” She asked, brow furrowing. “Jamie, I think you are quite drunk.”

 

“Pssh. You drank as much as I did tonight.” She shoved at the shoulder under her hand, but mostly succeeded in pushing herself backward. “Wait a second.” She wagged a finger at Delphine. “Don't try to change the subject. You never told me you played for my team.”

 

“What?”

 

Cal wandered over to the scene and glanced nervously between the three of them. Sid hovered just behind his left arm. “What's going on, guys?”

 

“Delphine's fucking into _chicks_ , man! And she never told me.” She gestured sloppily toward Delphine then turned to Charlie, realization heavy on her features. “Sorry, sorry. I mean, you're not a chick, but you are, you know?”

 

“Jamie, I think maybe you and I should go back to the table.” Cal said, starting to walk around Delphine, who was standing motionless in her shock.

 

“No, wait. What do you mean?”

 

“She's a transman, dingus!” Jamie started to laugh hysterically. “Holy shit, she didn't tell you? That's fuckin' low, man.”

 

“All right, definitely time for you to go sit down.” Cal said, a finality to his tone that let her know there was no room for discussion. Sid hurried around to help him escort her back to the table she'd come from.

 

It was quiet, and she wasn't looking at Charlie, but she could feel him looking at her. A transman? She assumed Jamie had meant that he was transsexual, but really that didn't tell her much. He was still a man, though, right? She wanted to look at him again, to see him for herself to confirm what she'd seen in him the past two hours, but was afraid it would be different now; she was afraid he would be different, that he wouldn't give himself to her as readily, or that he wouldn't be so kind to her after the altercation.

 

“So,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Uh, that's what I was gonna tell you. Or, actually, not exactly, because, see, I'm not a transman.”

 

She looked back up at him, eyes furrowed, and swallowed down the bitter-tasting saliva in her mouth. She'd been so close to what she wanted, she realized, and now everything had been shattered. What would he tell her? Would they be able to pick up the pieces of what they'd had after? “Then, what...?” She let herself trail off, because she didn't mean _what are you_ , but those were the only words her drunken, frozen brain could come up with right now.

  
“I'm in drag.” He cleared his throat and seemed to lift and resettle into his skin. “So, I'm actually a woman. Like, 99.99 percent of the time.”

 

“You're a woman.” She repeated, nodding along with the words as though it would help her process them.

 

“Yep.” He—or, she, actually—held out her hand. “I'm Cosima.”

 

She held it, and it looked exactly the same, felt exactly the same. She shook her head. “I need a cigarette.” She breathed out, and turned to start heading toward the back door.

 

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.” Cosima waved a hand. “It was nice to meet you, Delphine. I had a really great time.”

 

Delphine turned abruptly on her heel to face Cosima again. “You are not going to come with me?”

 

“Do you—do you want me to?” She replied, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears. Charlie had been soft and tender, but he'd never looked nervous the way Cosima did right this second. And then it occurred to her that Charlie had never been as bare as Cosima was now.

 

“Yes.”

 

They made their way out to the smoking area, which was really just a glorified patio with a roof and heat lamps built into the walls for the bitter cold of the winter months. Somehow, it was louder out here than it had been inside, with more people. Apparently, the patrons of this bar came just to chainsmoke over their drinks. They settled onto a small bench in a corner far away from the rest of the patrons, and Delphine pulled a cigarette out of her bag and lit it.

 

She held the wide pack out to Cosima. “Do you want one?”

 

“I don't smoke.” Cosima said with a shake of her head, and they sat silently for a few drags of Delphine's cigarette.

 

“So, I totally meant to tell you.” Cosima started launching into her apology tirade, and Delphine listened with a careful, soft interest. “We do this for Tony's shows sometimes, me and Sarah and Felix, and usually we just keep to ourselves. At first, I just thought you wanted to flirt or whatever, but that it wouldn't go anywhere, and you're beautiful, obviously, so I was like, 'okay, this could be fun. Maybe we can make out or something, and then both go our separate ways. No harm done.' But then I realized that I liked you. A lot. And I just...” She shook her head, chuckling slightly to herself. “Freaked out a little. Because you wanted to kiss me, and holy hot, did I want to kiss you, too.” Cosima turned to look at her, their eyes catching and sticking again, that familiar spark lighting in Delphine's stomach. “I was about to tell you, I promise.”

 

“Cosima.” It was the first time she'd said the name out loud. She liked it, it was slightly off-beat, a little strange, but lyrical in its own way.

 

“Yeah?” Cosima asked, twitching to look at her. She seemed like she was running high on a nervous adrenaline that made her overreact to the slightest stimuli.

 

“It's okay. I believe you. I'm not upset.”

 

Cosima's smile went lopsided, baring one canine and not the other. “Good.”

 

“Although, I am wondering...” She reached forward to touch the brim of Cosima's hat, asking silent permission which she was granted with a small nod. “I am wondering what you look like, you know, when you are not dressing like a boy.” She pulled the hat off and set it between them, revealing dreaded hair pulled on top of her head in a tight bun. Delphine frowned. “I was not expecting this.” She reached out to run a hand along the mattes, finding them rough and somehow soft at the same time.

 

“Yeah,. It's a look, as my parents like to say.” Cosima chuckled nervously. “And as far as I look like regularly, there's not much I can do to show you right now. I mean, like, I'd have to take this off,” she rubbed at the facial hair still stuck to her chin, “which is a whole production in and of itself. And then, I'd have to change and put on my makeup and my glasses.”

 

Delphine nodded, looking down to the floor. “I see.”

 

“I could go run home and do it, though.” Cosima dragged the words out, attempting to gauge Delphine's reaction as she spoke. “If you wanted me to or whatevs. I only live a few blocks away.”

 

Delphine considered it, curiosity mingled with a fear of disappointment. “Or I could come with you?” Delphine offered. Something was propelling her forward toward this all night, she realized, and she definitely didn't want to spend any more time in this stupid bar.

 

A slow, cocky grin spread across Cosima's face. “You want to come home with me?”

 

Delphine nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth again. She'd wanted to do it, but the act wasn't entirely subconscious. “That is, if you make as attractive a woman as you do a man.”

 

“I like to think so.” Cosima stood, holding out her hand, which Delphine took in a gentle grasp at the same time she deposited her cigarette in the fat-bottomed container. “C'mon.”

 

They left the bar and settled into a silence, comfortable yet edged with anticipation. After a few minutes, Delphine fished for her pack of cigarettes again and paused to light it. She caught up with Cosima easily, whose palm pressed against hers. Their fingers laced with a seemingly instinctual ease.

 

“Is this okay?” Cosima asked, glancing over to Delphine. She nodded and they kept on walking. “So, I just realized that I don't know much about you.” She chuckled.

 

Delphine looked over at her, taking a drag from her cigarette. “What would you like to know?”

 

“Well, you're from France, obviously. Where?”

 

“It's complicated.” Delphine sighed. “My father sold wine, so we traveled around quite a bit.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Cosima's pace quickened in her excitement, high-wattage smile back in its rightful place on her lips. “My parents were, like, obsessed with wine.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yeah. I grew up in the Bay Area, which is pretty close to Sonoma.” She shrugged. “They were giving me wine at dinner at, like, 14.”

 

Delphine smirked, amused with the very American notion that this was an unusual habit. “How very European of them.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Cosima laughed. “They were very worldly. I think the strategy was that if I drank at home with them, drinking wouldn't be taboo and I wouldn't go out and do it in precarious situations with my friends.”  
  


“Did it work?”

 

Cosima snorted and shook her head. “Hell no.”

 

“So you were a wild child?” Delphine raised her eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “The great thing about growing up in San Francisco is that you have access to this amazing, vibrant culture. The downside of that is you have access to a lot of drugs when you're maybe not ready to make those kinds of decision.” She raised her hand. “And I mean, a _lot_ of drugs.” She swung their hands into Delphine's hip. “What about you? Were you a rebellious teenager?”

 

“Mmm.” Delphine hummed, thinking about the answer. “I had my moments.”

 

Cosima laughed, the sound joyful and energetic in the quiet of the evening. “I bet you did. What did you get up to?”

 

Delphine shrugged. “The usual things, I suppose. Climbing buildings, sneaking out after my parents had fallen asleep, drinking too much, spending too much time with idiotic boys.”

 

Cosima bobbed her head in a nod. “Yeah, I can definitely vibe with that.” They fell silent again, Delphine watching Cosima from the corner of her eye, occasionally taking drags of her dwindling cigarette. “And now?” She added. “You still get yourself into trouble?”

 

Delphine shook her head. “Non, not usually. I think this is probably the wildest thing I've done since turning twenty.”

 

“What is? Taking home a stranger, or taking home a stranger who's a woman?” Cosima grinned, though the expression was worried at the edges.

 

Delphine raised her free hand, the one that was holding the cigarette, to scratch her thumb along her eyebrow. “Both, I suppose. The second is quite a bit more unusual than the first, though. And you? Do you do this often?”

 

“I don't take strangers home usually no. I tend to date and sleep with people I know already. Taking women home isn't abnormal for me, though.” She nudged into Delphine with her whole body. “Which I'm sure you've already guessed by now.”

 

“Yes.” Delphine agreed with a curt nod.

 

Cosima brought a hand to her chin, stroking at the hairs glued there. “It was the beard that gave me away, wasn't it? Damn.”

  
Delphine laughed and shook her head. “You.” She said, pointing her cigarette—which was burned down to the filter now—you are very... hmm. What's the word?”

 

“Charming?” Cosima cut in, grinning ear to ear.

 

Delphine rolled her eyes. “No. I mean to say... Eh, irreverent, perhaps? Mischevious?”

 

“I'll take it.” Cosima turned and tugged Delphine along with her. They ended up at the front door of a beautiful old Victorian building.

 

“You live here?” Delphine asked, a sense of wonder growing in her as they moved inside to mount the old, creaky staircase.

 

Cosima laughed. “Yeah. You like it?”

 

Delphine looked over at her with a childish smile on her face. “Yes, I miss old buildings.” She said with a soft sigh. “The building I live in was erected two years ago.”  
  


“Mmm. Yeah.” They were at a door now, that Cosima was jamming the key into. “Those new apartments have no character.” She tugged back on the door, grunting with exertion, and tried again to turn the key. “They also open when you put the key in the fucking—” She was cut off, though, when the key finally twisted to unlock the door with a _click_. “Never mind.” She chuckled, and led the way into her apartment “So, here it is. You want a glass of wine or something? I know you were drinking whiskey, but I practically live off red wine, so I don't usually have much else around.”

 

Delphine nodded. “Wine would be lovely. Thank you.”

 

Cosima moved to the kitchenette to pour two glasses for them. She handed one to Delphine then turned, walking backward toward the curtained-off area that was her bedroom and held a finger up. “Wait here. I'm just gonna go, you know...” She waved her arms vaguely toward her body, and finished “refeminize myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Let me first say, I'm so sorry for disappearing on you for the past few months. It's been just one hard thing after another plus no free time, and that all just means I've been way too exhausted and busy to pay any attention to writing. BUT I think that might be over. I definitely won't be able to update things every week anymore, and I can't promise I can continue all of my stories, but I'm gonna do my damndest cause y'all are just the best. Seriously. Anyway, this fic isn't done yet. I got a lot of work done on it, and the third part is going to be so smutty and so graphic and y'all are either going to love me for it or hate me. But, I wanted to let you all know that I'm still thinking about this story and I haven't abandoned it and give you a little taste of the direction it's going in. Hope you enjoy!

Cosima moved to the kitchenette to pour two glasses for them. She handed one to Delphine then turned, walking backward toward the curtained-off area that was her bedroom and held a finger up. “Wait here. I'm just gonna go, you know...” She waved her arms vaguely toward her body, and finished “refeminize myself.”

 

Delphine smiled tightly, before turning to the bookshelf nearby and beginning to scan it. Which turned out to be no easy feat, because there was easily over a hundred books crammed into the small apartment. “Your house is like a library.” She called out, not sure if Cosima could hear her.

 

The distant whoosh of the tap turned off abruptly, and a beat later Cosima responded. “What?”

  
“I said, your home is like a library, with all of these books.” She repeated, a little louder this time. She ran her hand over the spines of them, taking in the musty smell. It was odd, that she hadn't recognized this scent amongst the various ones that clung to Charlie's body throughout the night. They were all present here, though. Books, sandalwood incense, old building, and a twist of alcohol.

 

She heard Cosima laugh from the other room. “Yeah. Sorry about that, I'm kinda obsessed. Like, I love modern technology, but there's nothing like holding a book in your hands.” Delphine paused and straightened, smiling at the ghost of Cosima's voice. She agreed completely. She remembered all the time shed spent in her university's library, simply wandering about the stacks and running her hands along them to feel the rough texture beneath her fingertips. To feel the still, silent pulse of bodies in motion toward knowledge. “Feel free to look through them, if you want.” Delphine went back to what she was doing and had read through about half the titles on the left bookshelf before Cosima called out again. “If you find any romance novels, they're Alison's.”

 

“You don't like romance?” Her gaze stopped on the spine of a book, faded and illegible from how many times it had been opened. She ran her finger along the cracks, up to the top, where she pushed down on it so she could pull it from the shelf. _On the Origin of Species._ She let the book fall open to a dogeared page, and squinted to read the hastily-scrawled notes in the margin.

 

“Love romance.” The voice was getting nearer, so she glanced up to the doorway in anticipation of Cosima's arrival. She wondered what this Cosima would look like, how different she would be from the man she'd decided so intently to bed. Her heart beat rabbit-quick in her chest. “Hate romance _novels._ ” As the words reached her ears, Cosima stepped around the corner and into her line of sight. She was wearing a burgundy dress, her dreads still pulled back, though now they swung freely behind her head in a loose ponytail. She hadn't realized before just how long her hair was, and she marveled at how clever she'd been at hiding it. She had glasses on now, as well, and no trace of her earlier goatee. Delphine gaped. It was a complete transformation in so many ways, yet at the same time she couldn't shake the feeling nothing had changed. Cosima cleared her throat and shifted her weight to her other foot, hand rising to caress at her bicep. “So...”

 

Delphine snapped the book shut gently, then took a step toward her. She reached up and stroked her knuckles along Cosima's cheekbone. “Do you always wear so much eyeliner? It must take hours to get ready.”

 

Cosima chuckled and glanced down to her feet. “Nah, I've gotten pretty good at it now. It's kind of a signature look, I guess.” She inhaled a deep breath, then looked back up into Delphine's eyes. “What do you think?” They tugged at her again, her body unfazed by the change in appearance when those eyes were still so enchanting.

 

“I think...” Delphine bit her lip, feeling heat rush through her and burn on her cheeks. “I think you're still gorgeous.” She breathed out a laugh at the same time Cosima exhaled heavily, and she removed her hand from Cosima's face to brush through her own hair.

 

Cosima looked down to the book still in her hand, gesturing vaguely to it. “Oh, you found the origin of Charlie, huh?” She chuckled nervously. “It was one of the most influential books in my life, as you can probably tell, but I don't get around to reading it much anymore.”

 

“Well, one would hope the best an evolutionary biologist would have to say about Darwin's theories would not be... what was the word?” She muttered, flipping the book back open to the page she'd been on before. “Ah, yes. 'Hella tight.'”

 

Cosima rubbed at the back of her neck. “Yeah. I'm onto more complex ideas and expressions now, thankfully.”

 

“I'm glad to hear that.” Delphine placed the book back in its place, nudging the book that fell into its space out of the way carefully, then took Cosima's hands in hers. “And I think your notes are quite adorable, if not particularly useful or elaborative.”

 

Cosima quirked a smile at her. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat, and pulled her hands back to cross them over her chest. “So, do you want to, like, sit down or something? I have an extra chair somewhere for the desk...” She turned and started scanning the apartment for the chair, though Delphine couldn't see it, and she wondered how furniture could be hiding in so small a space. It _was_ rather cluttered, however.

 

“Or, we could...” She raised her eyebrows, feeling a swirl of nausea and excitement in her stomach. “Sit on the bed?”

 

“Oh.” Cosima smiled, the expression stretching across her cheeks, and Delphine felt herself pulled to it yet again. “Yeah, if you want.”

 

Delphine nodded, then followed Cosima over to the bed. They both stood next to it for a second, before Cosima chuckled awkwardly and sat, patting the spot next to her. Delphine obliged and sat too, still holding her wine glass in her hand.

 

“So, if you named yourself after Charles Darwin, does that mean your friends' names have significance, as well? I cannot think of anyone famous named Fifi, aside from perhaps a poodle?” She asked, suddenly feeling somewhat out of place in the apartment. Cosima probably tended to bring home women who knew what they were doing, women who were _gay._ She cradled the bowl of her glass in her palms, which freed her thumbs to trace the lip of it.

 

“Oh. Yeah. Well, Fifi was more Sarah's thing, actually.” Cosima turned slightly, bending her leg so it rested over the other, her knee on the bed. “Sid, I mean. Initially, Felix went with Siouxsie.”

 

“Why Susie?” She laughed, trying to imagine the tall, sassy woman she'd come to know as Fifi as Susie.

 

“Felix is big into New Wave, and Siouxsie Sioux is one of his favorites.”

 

“Ah. So, Siouxsie and the Banshees, then? That makes more sense.”

 

“Yeah.” Cosima nodded, her eyes brightening. “You know them?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Delphine chuckled. “I'm French, not an extraterrestrial.”

 

“Right. Obviously.” Cosima laughed along, the noise more genuine than it had ever been since she revealed herself. “Anyway, Sarah just kept calling him Fifi—I guess she thought it was funny or something? And it stuck.” She shrugged one of her shoulders and leaned her weight back onto the opposite hand, opening her body further to Delphine.

 

“Okay. What about Sid?”

 

“Sid Vicious.” Cosima shot back almost immediately. “From The Sex Pistols?”

 

Delphine hummed, leaning back to mirror Cosima's body. “I don't think I know it.”  
  


“You're not really missing much, in my opinion. Sarah loves that kind of stuff, though.” Cosima dropped her gaze down to the heavy comforter beneath her and picked at a feather that poked out from the duvet.

 

“And Tony?”

  
Cosima glanced back up quickly, confused. “Oh. Tony's just Tony. Alison's just Alison, too. Drag's not really their thing.”

 

“I see.”

 

They fell into silence, both of them averting their gazes and chuckling nervously. Delphine let out a small sigh and brought the wine glass to her lips. She felt fairly certain she did not need to drink more—should not probably drink more, given the situation, but needed something to distract herself. It was strange, to look at Cosima and still see Charlie in so many ways, despite how drastically different they appeared. It was an even odder feeling, to realize Charlie had never really existed in the first place.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Delphine looked up at the noise, her eyes connecting with Cosima's. And again, she found herself lost in them, in the depth and sparkle of them. The familiar ache returned, the desire to press forward, the comfort to do so without worry.

 

“I was just thinking that I never got my reward for winning the game of pool.”

 

Cosima's eyes widened slightly, her pupils dilating into the darkest reaches of vastness, but she did not look away now. “Delphine, I...” She sighed, shook her head, and started again. “I like you a lot. I'm _here_ for this, you know? And I guess I just want to know if you are, too? Like, why are you here? What is this for you?”

 

Delphine felt the intensity of the moment dissipate, releasing her to look away from Cosima's eyes, and she glanced down into the burgundy liquid between her palms. Why was she here, sitting on this woman's bed? It was a question she had been avoiding asking herself the entire night. “I suppose I'm here because...” She trailed off, unsure of how to articulate what she was feeling because the truth was there had been so little thought involved at all. She had cherished that aspect of it, it was a luxury not often afforded to her. “Because I like you, too. I don't know where this is going, but I'd like to find out. It has been so long since I've felt this way about someone.” She looked back up, fearing she'd find something suspicious in Cosima, but she was simply looking at her, curious and waiting. “I've only been with a woman once before, when my boyfriend was there. We mostly focused on him.”

 

Cosima pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in a soundless chuckle. “Whoa. A threesome, huh? Definitely did not see that coming.”

 

“Yes. Well, it was very important to him.” She finished the last of the wine in her glass, and Cosima took it from her to place it on the nightstand.

 

“So, inexperienced with women.” She nodded, seeming to think about it. “That's okay. As long as it's okay with you.”

 

Delphine swallowed and rubbed the thumb of one hand against the palm of the other. “It is, I just—am not sure about—” She let out a little huff, frustrated at how words would not come to her. She had a vast vocabulary, a wide range of knowledge—from Voltaire to Hawking to Freud—that she could expound upon at will in more than one language. Verbal dueling was, in fact, a passion of hers. Yet, with Cosima so close, with the blade pointed toward her own heart, she suddenly faltered altogether.

 

“Look, Delphine.” Cosima placed a tender hand to her forearm and waited until she looked back up into her eyes before speaking again. It somehow simultaneously managed to soothe her nerves and fuel them. “You don't have to agree to everything that might happen right now. I guess I just want to know what you want.”

 

Delphine looked from one eye to the other, finding nothing but sincerity and tenderness in both. “I want to kiss you.” She said it so quietly, she barely could hear herself outside the brush of her breath in her ears.

 

Cosima (uncharacteristically, she was noticing) did not speak. She simply leaned forward and let their lips touch tenderly. Firmly. The feeling flushed through Delphine's entire body, flooding her with the force of her own desire. She felt near the edge of tears, finally getting what she wanted and having it exceed her expectations. Cosima's lips were searching and light, whereas she was used to tongues jammed into her mouth, overly-lotioned but still rough, large hands on her breasts. Cosima's hands also stayed where they were, one on the bed and the other on her forearm, though her grip tightened slightly when their lips touched. She felt the touch like a sweet whisper, a gentle reminder that she was there, that she was feeling what Delphine was. Delphine pushed harder into her, and Cosima whimpered. Her body throbbed with the beat of her heart and she pulled away, unfamiliar with the overwhelming heat of it all. No one had ever _whimpered_ at her touch before.

 

Cosima's eyes blinked open, unfocused and hazy, mere remnants of the clear brown they'd been just moments before. “Are—was that okay?”

 

“Yes.” She breathed, bringing a hand up to her forehead to cool the heat there but finding her hands were just as hot. “It was incredible.”

 

Cosima grinned, toothy and wide, and stroked her thumb along Delphine's forearm. “Good. 'Cause, yeah. That was fucking hot for me. You're an amazing kisser, Delphine.”

 

Delphine laughed and looked down to the finger that traced arcs along her skin, seeming so benign but somehow so sensuous. She swallowed to wet her throat and fought the urge to grasp at Cosima's hand. She wanted to hold it—yes, that was the impulse—but she also didn't ever want those fingers to stop feeling her skin, to stop exploring it. “You are, too.”

 

Cosima reached up to tilt her chin upward so they were looking at one another again. “And you're still okay, right?”

 

Delphine nodded, which seemed to be the answer Cosima wanted because soon she was running her thumb along Delphine's lips. It was just a ghost of their kiss, not anywhere near the drug her lips had been, but it was enough to string her along, to make her want more. She let her eyes fall shut and the fingers moved along her jaw to her neck, the pads dragging a sweet friction. They stopped when they reached the ridge of her collarbone.

 

She opened her eyes again, and saw the most beautiful sight: Cosima, staring in wonder at just the suggestion of Delphine's chest, fingers lingering and hesitant. She saw the way her mouth hung open, the way she took deep breaths in through the small gape, and wanted those lips again. She craved them suddenly, realizing distantly that she had crossed a line she'd never known was drawn, and there was no going back without years' worth of regret. So she moved forward, taking Cosima's lips again and forcing their bodies closer.

 

Cosima let out a little cry, barely a noise with their lips pressed firmly together, but it was enough to spur her onward. She felt her confidence grow, and when she opened her lips, Cosima did the same. She flicked at the tip of Cosima's tongue with her own, feeling sparks fire through her. It was a heated kiss, but she still appreciated Cosima's restraint. She appreciated the way her tongue still did not jam down her throat—something she'd thought was just a fact of life, something she must learn to like, before now. Cosima's tongue, instead, was teasing and gentle and playful. It snuck out, then back in, struck here and there; sometimes, it would be languid and slow like a hot summer's day, and the next short and curt like footsteps in autumn. Her lips would release and resettle sometimes, too. One second on her bottom lip, the next focused on her top. She reveled in it. She was indulging in her, yet still she craved her.

 

Her hand twitched with the desire to touch, so she brought it haltingly to rest against Cosima's waist, feeling the smooth dip of it. It was strange, and she wasn't sure entirely what she was doing, but she liked the feeling. It was so different from the hard, straight line of a man's. She let her hand wander up, follow the curve along the rumbling span of her ribcage, before freezing when her thumb brushed the underside of Cosima's breast. To her credit, Cosima didn't push despite how obviously she wanted Delphine to touch her there. She inhaled sharply, the movement of her lips and the flow of her breath against Delphine's lips halting altogether at the slight touch. Her hips inched forward, scooting her closer, but then she waited. The moment stretched, the both of them waiting to see what would happen next. Delphine's mind swirled in a jumble of thoughts that were so mixed up they weren't coherent at all, just a heavy din of conflicting thoughts. Cosima, alternatively, did not move, patient as ever.

 

Delphine's hand twitched again, but this time moved down, pressing hard into the swell of Cosima's hip, fingers snagging in the soft fabric of her dress. “Could I maybe...” She trailed off and looked down to the fabric bunched in her palm, weighing whether she was ready for this step or not. Cosima naked in front of her would shatter the illusion of Charlie entirely. She knew that. At the same time, she was ready to move past kissing her, was excited to see her completely unraveled before her. “Would you take this off?” They were still impossibly close, so much so that when she looked back up to Cosima's face, she could only focus on one of her eyes at a time.

 

“You want me to—oh. Okay.” Cosima stood and reached behind her to tug at the zipper of her dress, managing to get it down and the dress off rather skillfully, given her fumbling excitement.

 

It was everything and nothing Delphine had been hoping for, somehow a familiar feeling for her now. She knew what a naked woman looked like, of course, but she still imagined Cosima to be some sort of matroyshka doll, slipping from one identity into another and another until at last she reached the end, the true self. But really, wasn't everyone that way? Most in a less obvious, physical sort of way, but still a complex maze of realities and contradictions.

 

Cosima cleared her throat, once again tugging Delphine from her musings, forcing her out of her head and into the moment. She settled again next to Delphine on the bed, reaching shaky hands up to toy with the button between Delphine's breasts.

 

“Can I take this off you?” She asked, swallowing down the anxiety and excitement Delphine's hungry gaze spawned in her.

 

Delphine nodded, watching Cosima take in the skin she was exposing, button by button, painfully slow. She shrugged out of it when it was finally open and stood to unbutton her pants and slide them down her legs. There was a bit of a tussle when she realized she still had her shoes on (stupid, really, how could she forget that?) but it was only a matter of kicking them off before she was back on the bed and pressing again into Cosima, pushing her back onto the bed.

 

She hesitated. Which was funny, actually, because Delphine was not shy when it came to sex. She'd had it often enough to know what she liked, to know how to manipulate the situation so that she could get it. She quickly realized, with Cosima pinned beneath her and her hands moving down with the intention of stroking at what would normally be a thick bulge of flesh, that she was entirely out of her depth. She raised herself off of Cosima, chuckling nervously and running her hand through her hair.

  
“I, uh, I don't really know what to...” She trailed off, staring helplessly down at Cosima's smooth body. “Merde.”

 

Cosima laughed, open and free, and she felt it ease the tension from her shoulders and jaw. “I get it. You're not used to being with women.”

 

Delphine nodded vehemently. “Yes. Exactly.”

 

“Well, what if I had a cock?” Cosima tilted her head thoughtfully off to the side, watching her intently from under the glasses she still wore.

 

“I didn't mean—” Delphine began to stammer, suddenly worried she'd offended her, made her feel like she wasn't enough. Which was definitely not the case, if the damp stick of her underwear to her cunt was any indication. “I simply don't—” She blew out a frustrated huff through her nose, and Cosima laughed again.

 

Cosima sat up, forcing Delphine to rise up on her knees. “No, no. I meant a strap-on. Like, a dildo?” She brushed a few strands of hair out of Delphine's face affectionately. “We could, like, ease into the whole 'new sexual experiences' thing.”

 

Delphine nodded, feeling embarrassment flush her cheeks a bright red, and climbed off Cosima so she could stand. She rummaged around in the closet for a bit before finding what she was looking for and slipping it up her hips. It took her a couple more seconds before it was adjusted and ready, and Cosima turned.

 

It was... not really anything like a cock, aside from the fact that it was hard and phallus-shaped and hip-level. For one thing, it was completely smooth and plasticky, shining against the lamplight. For another, it was purple. And glittery. She raised her eyebrows and looked up at Cosima with a small smile threatening the corners of her lips.

 

“What?” Cosima chuckled. “You don't like it?”

 

Delphine bit at her lip, moving her gaze back down to the strap-on, feeling a surge of heat when she imagined it inside her—imagined _Cosima_ inside her. “I did not say that.” Suddenly, her voice felt hoarser, lower. She caught Cosima's gaze again and reached out a hand. “Come.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. I've been working on this piece for a while, and I've almost got the second part done. The second part is gonna be hella smutty, so feel free not to read it if you don't want to. I'm hoping to get it up in a week or so! Thanks so much to Cophinaphile for beta'ing this for me and being generally amazingly supportive and sweet. Your feedback is super invaluable and encouraging to me, as always, and I'd love to know what you think. Enjoy!


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